My 3D Lovers

Chapter2

Josh was introduced into the life of Rose in the most common manner. She was a new employee of a consulting firm who had been hired as a junior administrative assistant. The man behind the glass walls, admired by all of them, but hardly ever approached casually, he was he.

He was bigger, senior, and he moved with grace and an elan that attracted people anywhere he moved. Dressed immaculately, always cool. He could do nothing but create disorder. He caused the storm of emotions in Rose just by looking at her.

The real talk between the two started when she accidentally printed her assignment using his personal printer. She stormed into his office and was red-faced and stammering over apologies. He gave it a wave of good-natured chuckle.

"Relax. Everyone makes mistakes. What’s your name?"

"Rose. Rose Woods."

Rose Woods, he repeated, in his deep, smooth voice. "Nice to meet you."

Henceforth, closer i*********e occurred between them. He assigned her minute work which was not within her scope, longer talks, coffee and lunch.

He never made a move at first. But the kindness of his eyes and the time he took in perusing their conversations told her what he was not saying.

Eventually, he spoke.

One evening, as the office was almost vacant, he said, I know it is wrong. I know I am not supposed to feel this, but I do. I care about you, Rose."

Her heart sunk as she looked at him. "But you’re married."

He made a nod and his eyes were clouded with pain. My wife and I live in different countries. Years since we have lived as a home. It’s just a legal bond now. But in your case, I would do everything differently. I would divorce her had you demanded it.

Those words shook her. Not because she did not care about him, she did. She now liked the sweet power of Josh, his care, and the peace he offered her crazy mind. Her husband respected her, listened and assisted her in a manner that no one had. He even inserted money in her purse when she declined to take assistance.

But she could not forget one fact: He was another man.

She pictured his wife sitting alone in a distant house abroad, bringing up her three children, and waiting. Innocent. Unaware.

Rose had witnessed enough tragedy to be the reason behind another.

So, again and again, she said no.

Once she said to him, You deserve to be loved freely. "Not in the shadows. And I must love somebody without a conscience.

Nonetheless, Josh never ceased being there by her side. When she was married to Andrew, she had the worst years with his support. He would pay hospital bills as Andrew beat her. He assisted her with paying rental fees when Andrew refused. He went to the extent of purchasing toys for Anthony during his birthday celebration when nobody remembered it.

But, whenever he looked at her with those desiring eyes, she turned her head.

She couldn't be that woman.

She wouldn’t.

And yet, it was not Jeffery or Andrew that she thought of when she left Andrew and went home.

It was Josh.

Even when she had never dared to love him, he had loved her, the way she most needed to be loved.

So that you can ask nothing in return.

The next morning that she had come back, Rose woke up in the little room she had grown up in. The worn, old-fashioned pink curtains, also hungry for a shabby rose, swung with the wind in the half open window. Her suitcase was in the corner, her shoes next to the bed like jaded soldiers returning home after a battle.

She hadn't

’t unpacked. She didn’t plan to.

The quietness of her childhood house was soothing and shocking. Her mother had died many years ago and her siblings were in various cities, pursuing their lives. Her father was the only one left, and he was desperately holding on to the house as though it was the last fiber keeping him to a life he once knew.

Rose was sitting on the very edge of the bed looking at the floor. The bruises on her skin were healed, but the ones on the inside were aching like open wounds. She had not cried since she had left the mansion of Andrew and she could not allow herself to do so yet.

Her father later prepared breakfast that morning. A very basic breakfast of yam and eggs, the way her mother made it. He said not a lot, but simply had a low murmur, eat before it got cold.

She nodded and obeyed. Her father never pried. He had encountered enough misery in his life to understand that sometimes he do not say more than ask.

Rose went out after her breakfast and made her way back to the mango tree, which had been there since she was a girl. She was sitting under it, her back against its rough bark, and at last gave way to the tears.

Not only because of the a***e, or the dreams broken, or the promises broken. But to herself, to the girl she had been, to the woman she was now becoming, to the future which still terrified her.

She spent the next few days in a trance such that she rejected calls from friends who came to see her; she was unwilling to put up with the inquisitive looks created by her neighbors. The absence of Anthony was the only thing that burnt through the fog.

Her son was beloved to her by every beat of the heart.

But she was aware he was better where he was. Andrew loved his son, as she fervently hoped, in spite of all his cruelty. She had told him, as she went, that she would not carry Anthony. It was not her desire, but she had nothing: neither job, nor stability, nor peace.

One day, I shall come back to you, dear stars, one day, she said to herself day after day, one day.

On her fifth day of coming back, she was knocked down by her old friend Efe. A loud, active lady with a fierce temper and an unstoppable mouth.

I heard you coming back, Efe, I thought, and I did not even wait to be invited to barge in. “And I heard things. Is it true? You left Andrew?”

Rose didn’t answer right away. She smiled feebly instead. “It’s true.”

Efe thought about her a little and sat next to her on the couch. You do not need to tell me what happened. I know that look. I’ve seen it in my own mirror.”

Rose turned to her, shocked. “You?”

Efe nodded. “Long ago. Before I knew my worth. However, I am here, and you are, as well. That’s what matters.”

Something within Rose changed at that point. She wasn’t alone. Her pain wasn’t unique. And perhaps, perhaps, neither was her healing need.

Efe produced a flyer, which was in her handbag, and gave it to her. The community has a women's support group. They meet every Wednesday. You don’t have to speak. Just come.”

Rose stood and stared at the flyer long after Efe had departed. A support group? The thought terrified her. But there was something deeper that was pushing her to go.

She slept that night, reflecting upon the silent love of Jeffery that night, and the violent mastery of Andrew and the patient support of Josh.

And her own silence.

After too long, she was silent.

It was time to speak.

To live.

To begin again.

Not for any man.

But for herself.